Garands
by cloudsongs
Summary: The life and friendship of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes from the very beginning. Eventual Steve/Bucky. Warnings: some underage stuff, drug use, etc. Warnings will be updated as chapters are posted.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Mr. Evans had it out for Steven Rogers. There was no doubt about it. Ever since he'd unwisely corrected his pronunciation of hypertrichosis and James "Bucky" Buchanan Barnes chose that exact moment to claim that Mr. Evans shouldn't have had a problem pronouncing a condition he obviously had. It wasn't Steve's fault. All he'd done was try to insure his classmates were getting correct information and all Bucky had wanted…well he'd just seen it as another chance to get on a teacher's nerves which would, in turn, get on Jack's nerves. It was a harmless form of revenge and Steve definitely didn't deserve the severe punishment that came with it.

Steve had actually been really excited about the project; they had to construct an exact replica of a chosen dinosaur's anatomy using credited research. He had been so excited he'd volunteered to be the one student to do the project on his own. However, still upset over his outburst, weeks ago he might add, Mr. Evans had other plans.

"And Mr. Barnes, since you've found it necessary to become Mr. Rogers's backbone, you can be his partner for this assignment." He turned around knowing full and well that the angry groan he heard came from the seat closest to the front of the room.

And if his mother hadn't scolded him before for combative behavior, Steve would've thrown a tantrum. He would've stood up and demanded a reassignment and, had he known those words he'd heard the older kids spew, he would've cursed the man in the tacky, bland suit at the front of the room enjoying his discomfort.

But instead, Steve rolled his eyes, cursed his luck and refused to look at the back of the room. Bucky shrugged his shoulders and continued drawing a rather rude picture of Mr. Evans kissing Principal Connors' ass. He didn't care who his partner was; it wasn't like he'd have to anything. Every time someone got paired up with him, they assumed he would be a liability or a mooch. They figured it'd be less of a hassle to just sign his name than piss him off.

Despite this fact, Steve Rogers stopped at Bucky's desk when class ended and dropped a folded piece of notebook paper on top of his artwork with a heartfelt sigh. Knowing it would make him sweat, Bucky didn't open it until Steve left the room. In the little note, in painstakingly neat handwriting was Steve's home address and phone number.

Bucky lifted his head in confusion, scanning the empty room for some sign this was a joke. But he'd watched that Rogers kid and he wouldn't know a prank unless someone provided a Webster definition and drew a damn diagram. He packed his thin bag and left the room, a little ashamed to have written off the one person that hadn't done the same to him.

After a week of no contact with Rogers, Bucky was sitting at home, eating cornflakes and watching cartoons from the neighbor's television set across the street when Jack and his ma started shouting. He sighed and kicked at the pillow in vain, succeeding only in knocking it off the sofa and onto the floor. He'd just mustered enough annoyance to get off the couch and retrieve it when his mother shuffled in and eyed him curiously.

"Honey, don't you have something you could be doing? Homework, maybe?' she asked, obviously a little frazzled. This was the part he hated most about when his parents fought. They treated him like he was some stupid kid, like he somehow hadn't see, or heard them fighting not five feet away from him. Jack expected him to be a copper but he also expected him to ignore the obvious.

And he loved his mom, sometimes he thought more than Jack. It hurt to lie. "Uh…yeah. I'm supposed to be doing a dinosaur project with some kid a few blocks away in Steel Apartments."

His mother smiled sadly at him and grabbed her large, ugly, brown purse and her Sunday hat. "That's right around the corner, I'll walk you." It really wasn't; Bucky was sure it would _at least_ be a two mile walk from here. Then she practically threw them both out of the apartment building and into the noisy, crowded streets.

They walked side-by-side and Bucky guessed his mother believed ignorance made him an invalid because she tucked his shirt in for him and licked his hair back like a toddler. As she walked, she talked: about anything really. She talked about Jack's job at the factory, about her work as a launderer, about his Aunt Marianne and her breast cancer, about his chores, his homework, and his future. When he finally reached the Steel Apartments, his mind was reeling. She kissed his forehead and took his hand. "I love you, James." She smiled but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

He ran up the stairs and knocked on Rogers' door and by the time Mrs. Rogers answered the door and his mother was down the street, he realized with jarring clarity what she'd told him. She would be staying at Aunt Marianne's for a while. She was telling him she'd be leaving for a while but deep down, in the pit of his heart, it felt like she wasn't coming back.

Mrs. Rogers seemed like a kind enough woman, but Bucky wasn't in the mood for kind. For once, he found himself speechless. But he wasn't a baby; he was a man now. He was twelve for Christ's sake; he wasn't going to run to a corner and cry. Especially not in front of Rogers' mom, and especially not in front of Rogers.

"So, you're James Barnes? Are you by any chance related to the Mrs. Barnes that does the laundry? She's does such a swell job; our clothes are always soft and clean when we take it to her. She's such a lovely woman; we've been out to lunch a few times when you boys were younger." He awkwardly looked around the foyer, right next to the small space for dining, never having great experiences with adults. His eyes landed on a picture of a thin man wearing a soldier's uniform standing next to a beautiful woman with blonde, curly hair and a pregnant belly. The woman's face had a relaxed smile while the man looked as if he was going to cry. "That's my late husband. He was ever quite the prude," she laughed. She gently maneuvered Bucky into the kitchen where he was hit with the mouthwatering smell of fresh brownies. He must've been staring at the godsends on the table because she chucked and fetched a plate from a cabinet and placed it next to the pan. "Take two. They're Steven's 'Cheer-Up Brownies'. He's been in such a mood lately, I've been getting carpal tunnel and losing our whole stock of chocolate with all the baking I've had to do."

Bucky grinned and took a large bit out of one perfectly proportioned dessert, relishing in the dark chocolate goodness. He wasn't particularly fond of dark chocolate but it had been so long since he'd had a bite of anything so sweet that he overlooked the whole thing. "These are delicious," he mumbled, remembering what his mother said about speaking with his mouth full.

Mrs. Rogers returned his smile and didn't mention his bad manners. She went to the short hallway and called for Steve. "Sweetheart, your science partner's here and you've been in there for the past three days! The fresh air will do you good." When she returned, Bucky was on his second and contemplating whether or not he could get away with a third. She frowned a little as the self-conscious look on his face and shook her head. "Go for it, take as many as you like. Steven's been eating too much of it anyway. Wouldn't be good for his health."

Bucky reached for another brownie after another moment of hesitation. It wasn't like he'd never had freshly baked brownies before, it'd just been a while. It wasn't like he deliberately asked his mother to bake brownies for him, just that he _knew_ they didn't have the money to always make them. Apparently, it had been longer than he realized because he'd polished off five more before Steve came down the hall with green paint plastered to his pale forehead and cheek. Given everything his mother slip, Bucky could've easily come up with something vicious to say to Steve to embarrass him, make him cry; he'd certainly been given the ammunition. But he didn't want to go home right now. Not when he had brownies and calm conversation he didn't necessarily have to respond to.

"So…" Steve said, shifting his small weight from foot to foot, a critical look on his face. Bucky found himself wondering whether the kid ever smiled, outside of getting a teacher's praise. "Are we going to work on _our_ project, or what?"

"Steven," his mother admonished. "Change your tone."

Light brows furrowed, Steve tried again. "Are you ready to work?"

Mrs. Rogers stepped forward and examined his face, tilting it erratically from the left to the right, upward and downward. "Go wash your face first then you can work." She marched him in the direction he'd come from before returning.

Mrs. Rogers smiled at him again, wiping her hands on her apron, wedding band reflecting in the kitchen light. Opening the fridge, she began to pour him a glass of cold milk, his favorite, but Jack didn't even know that. She placed it next to him on the table and fetched a brownie for herself. "So, Bucky, I hear you're quite the trouble maker. You seem alright to me." She winked at him, taking a bite.

And with that, Bucky decided he liked it here.

Steve wasn't pleased with the way the paint on his dinosaur looked too much like plastic and not scales. He had spent so long mixing colors to see if he could find the perfect shade of green but to no avail. And he certainly wasn't pleased with the way Bucky Barnes came strolling into his room with chocolate covered fingers, dirt-tracking sneakers, and a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He'd been working furiously on this project for the last four days, alone he might add, and Bucky hadn't done anything to help. Granted, he should've expected it; he'd heard from everyone else Bucky had been partnered with that he preferred to be a silent bystander. Yet he was still one of the most popular kids in school. What injustice.

But then again, Bucky had never come to their houses. Before he could feel accomplished in this feat, he reasoned Bucky had probably just been bored at home doing whatever kids like him did by themselves. Like smoking or sneaking into clubs and all those other things his mother would bust his chops for.

So he put Bucky to work. Put him in charge of mixing the material for the paper mache while he cut strips of old newspapers he collected from all the elderly neighbors. They worked in silence (mostly), Steve focused on his project and Bucky grateful for a task to keep his mind off his mother's departure. The only interruption they ever got were the sudden hacking coughs emitting from Steve's small body that he'd desperately try to cover up with a red face. Bucky didn't comment but he felt on edge and had the burning desire to keep the door open so he could yell for Mrs. Rogers in case Steve threw up his lungs. Before they'd realized, three hours had passed and Mrs. Rogers was calling Bucky and asking if he planned on staying for dinner or if his parents were expecting him. Knowing Jack, he probably hadn't realized Bucky had left. That or he thought he was out with his mother who'd bring him back for dinner, that the three of them would sit down to until Jack would inevitably be called by one of his friends to go to the bar.

But Bucky didn't mention any of this, choosing instead to lie. "Yeah, my Pa's expecting me." He turned to face Steve, his eyes on his shoes. "I'll see you later –"

"Tomorrow, you mean?" Steve asked just defiant enough that his mother wouldn't scold.

He looked up and their eyes met for the first time that Bucky could remember, curiosity present in his gaze. Steve's eyes were a lot like his mother's. They reflected kindness and honestly and, not that he'd ever tell him, a gentle soul. But, the most astonishing of all, they looked expectant and challenging. He felt as if, for once, someone expected him to finish something he started; not because he was supposed to or because his parents were making him…but because this kid, the overly tense, incredibly tiny Steve Rogers, needed his help and was depending on him for assistance. And whether he liked it or not, he was not getting out of this partnership.

The sheer challenge made Bucky question whether he even wanted to try.

And what the hell, he'd been less alone in Steve's silence than the cacophony of sound at his house. "Yeah, Rogers. I'll be here tomorrow," he started towards the door before throwing over his shoulder, "for the brownies."

A/N: Thank you for reading. Reviews are greatly appreciated. If there are any questions, I will address them in an Author's Note in the next chapter if I do not directly reply to you.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Two weeks of working together with Bucky Barnes and Steve was ready to strangle him. He'd begun planning the crime and just what he would say on the court stand. He'd assure the jury it wasn't just _one_ of Bucky's annoying little traits, it was all of them. Sure, they'd begun their partnership in a somewhat efficient silence. Steve would assign their tasks; Bucky would nod and roll his eyes before setting to work. They'd worked this way for a few days and Steve had begun wondering if his classmates had been completely wrong about Bucky.

Bucky hadn't outwardly complained about having to work, he hadn't slacked off at all, he even chose to work when Steve had taken breaks to eat, do chores, and secretly take his cough suppressants. He arrived at his house when he said he would, sometimes even an hour early. Silvia Salander, one of the only girls at school that occasionally talked to him, tried to credit Bucky's parents for his promptness but Steve shut her down, having noticed since that first day, Bucky always walked to his house with the same pair of shoes and a thin, holey jacket despite the chilly Brooklyn weather. Even on the day it poured buckets and his mother worried aloud that 'that Barnes boy' would catch pneumonia in 'this hurricane rain'.

But that period had been too good to be true. Eventually, Bucky made it clear his docile, compliant, even pleasant behavior was all an act. A temporary state before he unleashed his true annoying tendencies that Steve swore came straight from Satan himself to ruin any chance he had at finishing his three-week sentence with any semblance of sanity.

It wasn't that Bucky was constantly around to show him up in praising his mother's good cooking, or the way he managed to get tasks that took Steve two hours done in less than twenty minutes, or the way he knew how to create artistically impressive decals for the dinosaur's features that blew Steve's mind with viciously jaded spikes of envy. It wasn't the way he babbled incessantly about the latest films he'd snuck into in the drive-in theatres or the way he sung songs off-key under his breath and Steve's skin. It wasn't even the immense irritation Steve felt after Bucky decided calling him 'Rogers' was getting tedious and decided to call him 'Stevie'.

If Steve had to guess what the most annoying part of being Bucky Barnes' partner was, he'd guess it was the fact that he was starting to get used to it.

After the rain that day, his mother had begun to insist Steve brought Bucky home with him after school. He'd refused furiously and adamantly until his mother attacked his one weakness, claiming that she'd take away his sketchbooks and drawing pencils till he was willing to be kinder. After that, he begrudgingly approached Bucky and withstood the confused glares his friends gave him. He'd taken a huge gulp of air and pawned the blame on his mother and Bucky's lost puppy features. "My mother thinks you should walk home with me," he began, shifting from foot to foot and waiting for Bucky to look up from his sandwich. The laughter from Bucky's friends burned his cheeks. "So, I'll wait for you on the front steps after school." When Bucky didn't respond, he rolled his eyes and regretted ever agreeing to ask. It was a few moments before Bucky looked up, a strange look on his face. "Okay?"

Bucky had nodded and his eyes lowered to a hole in his chino pants. "Yeah. Okay. I'll have to ask Jack." He started to ask Steve why but he was already halfway back to his usual table by himself.

That day, at the risk of appearing too eager, Bucky forced himself to walk the straight edges of the tiled floor to the front door, taking an extra twenty minutes after school. It had the unfortunate side effect of pissing Steve off but succeeded in maintaining his role as an unwilling participant in Steve's grade. And when they'd finally reached the semi-neat, four-story apartment building four blocks from the school, Bucky was willing to bet Steve was already over it because he didn't even scowl when Bucky got the first cookie of the batch. He did laugh when Bucky burned his tongue, but so did he.

At the two-week mark, Bucky had been increasingly annoying. Steve figured something must've changed because Steve babbled even more than usual. They'd developed a routine of eating Mrs. Rogers' delicious snacks, hurrying upstairs to work on their project; Bucky had named it The Rogersaurus after 'Steve's evil alter ego', where they would stay for four hours and Steve would consider dropping out before he lost his mind. Now, Bucky had taken to sitting on the small kitchen stool and helping Mrs. Rogers with whatever she happened to be making. Steve didn't want to admit to eavesdropping but he knew he worked twice as fast with Bucky's infuriating assistance without it, so he'd sit by the edge of the hallway and listen to their conversations.

Sometimes, Bucky would ask how Mrs. Rogers was doing, where Mr. Rogers was since he'd never seen him till now, and Mrs. Rogers would sadly admit that Mr. Rogers hasn't been around for a long time. Bucky would not ask again. Steve later tells him that his pa was brave and fought in the World War but died before Steve was born. But mostly, he would talk about his ma and something she'd done this week, or years ago. Steve's mother always sounded pleased and welcomed Bucky's company, encouraging him to go on when he spoke about his mother, teaching him baking tips and distracting him with tasks when his voice got smaller. Afterwards, she'd thank him for his help to an extent that made Steve feel guilty and a bit jealous. She was _his_ ma and Bucky was showing him up, again.

Once, Steve had felt so bothered, he asked his mother why Bucky couldn't just go home and speak to his own mother. To his surprise, she eyed with reproach before explaining, "Steve, have you considered the possibility that he can't?"

That confused him and sent a strange daunting feeling through the pit of his stomach. After all, he'd always been able to tell his ma everything. Even the stuff about people picking on him for stature or calling him queer for drawing all the time. "What do you mean, he can't?"

At this, the frown on his mother's face was replaced with a soft smile as she pulled him into a hug complicated by the inches he'd never grown. "Sweet-child, not everyone's ma is like yours. Keep that in mind." She pushed him towards their dining table to set it for dinner. "And quit bustin' his chops," she said, surprising Steve with her modern words, "Be glad I've got someone to cook with, that's more time you have to yourself."

That night, after dinner and their evening prayers, his mother told Steve to invite Bucky and his family to dinner the next night and he didn't even question it.

* * *

Bucky failed to mention the dinner invitation to Jack until he was sure he had some poker game or a drinking invitation lined up and wouldn't be able to make it. He knew his intentions were obvious but his father didn't look the least bit upset. If anything, he looked regretful. Like he'd noticed the amount of time Bucky was spending with the Rogers rather than at home, in their small, empty apartment, he didn't mention it. His mother had been back for a few days earlier in the week with angry customers asking for their clothes back. She wanted it to seem like she'd spent the night but after she'd left and Jack spent nights awake drinking himself to a stupor, Bucky had taken to sleeping less at night and more at school. He'd been wide-awake on his couch in the front room when she'd sneaked out of the house, her dinner clothes evident in the streetlights.

He wished he could feel hurt or even angry that they were lying to him, but he was too excited she'd been home period to feel anything other than that joy of feeling accomplished. Like he finally had something Steve had; he could have some part of normal and he could prove it. After spending so much time with Stevie's –he had to remember to keep calling him that as the glare on Steve's face had become a delight n his day –family and seeing what he could have. What he was supposed to have. And he couldn't keep stealing Steve's ma from him, even if Steve didn't seem to appreciate what he had.

He walked home with Steve that afternoon in his least holey pair of pants and a collared shirt, missing several buttons nonetheless, but still a nice shirt. Steve was quieter than usual, his step a few strides behind Bucky's and Bucky felt a small sliver of embarrassment. Maybe the dinner had just been Steve's ma's idea and he wasn't wanted. He'd thought maybe Steve and he had been on the track to becoming friends, despite all the jokes jabbed at Steve…or at least acquaintances, or maybe people that could stand being in a room for longer than an hour without throwing fruits at each others' heads. Sure he acknowledged that he was a handful, not the easiest person to get to know. He had farfetched, and far-flung ideas that got him, and often-unwilling participants, in trouble along with him when he put them in action. But he hadn't even been around Steve long enough to get him into trouble. He hadn't tainted him yet. Mrs. Rogers could testify to that. And if his mother were still around (_she's coming back_, he reminded himself), she'd testify to it too. And it wasn't like Steve didn't already get himself into enough trouble. Just the other day, some of Bucky's friends were poking fun at Chubby Susie while she wailed out loud in school yard and Steve barreled down the path and butted straight into Johnny Wilkins and flailed his arms around to hit as many boys as he possibly could for making Susie cry. In the end, Bucky ended up dragging Steve home, not bothered in the slightest of the blood that touched his collar when Steve staggered into him when they reached the halfway mark.

Deciding to just get it over with, Bucky walked a few steps too close to the boy lost in his thoughts, playfully knocking into him. "What's going on, Stevie? Worried about the Rogersaurus being on his own for too long? We've raised him well and I'm sure he won't fall into a bad crowd and start smoking."

He was shocked when that got a small smile out of the usually tense kid. "No, I'm sure he's fine. I'm still not sure why he's a he." He tilted his head and bit the inside of his cheek before giving way to his curiosity. "I kinda wanted to ask you something."

Bucky grinned and bumped Steve to the side with his hip again. Steve stumbled a little. "Yes, Steve, I am an alien, and yes, I have come to earth to crawl inside of you and assume your role as a boring, straight-A student with no social life. I've been observing for quite some time and now I think I'll be good enough that no one will suspect a thing."

That one earned an actual, nervous, laugh; Steve's eyes bright and yet, still uneasily curious. "I knew it. Wait 'til I tell everyone I was right."

Bucky nodded thoughtfully, knowing Steve was trying to find a polite time to ask what must be either an uncomfortable or unpleasant request of him. Maybe he was going to use this dinner as a nice way of saying, "Hey, Bucky, it's been great but once this project is over, I'll be glad to never see you again" or "Is it okay to pretend you don't exist after next Thursday?" Either way, Steve was trying to be kind about it and of course he was; he was a Rogers. They were so painfully kind even in the face of someone like Bucky Barnes, son of Jack Barnes who sometimes ignored tact in favor of faster results.

"What's eatin' ya, Steve?" Bucky crossed his arms and lowered his gaze.

It was a moment before he replied and they'd reached the Steel Apartments and its pebbly walkway when, instead of entering the front door, Steve chose to instead plop down on the front step. Bucky's heart raced for a moment, thinking Steve had over exhausted himself on the walk back home. The idea itself was dumb since they walked from school everyday but he knew how weak Steve was. When Steve did nothing more than a weak cough, Bucky sighed. Steve glanced up with a nervous quirk of an eyebrow when Buck stood before him, leaning against the railing. "Why don't you ever talk to me about stuff?"

Which threw Bucky for a pleasantly unexpected loop. "What?"

Steve squinted up at him, and clarified. "You spend a lot of time talking to my mom, like an hour a day but when we go to my room, you never talk about anything."

"I talk a lot," he objected, shrugging.

Steve grinned. "Yeah, you do. But it's never about anything. I asked my ma once and she said it's because you don't have people to talk to." At that, Bucky looked stricken and embarrassed so Steve hurriedly went on. "And so I thought, you could talk to me, but you never do. Well, I mean you do, but it's never about anything."

Bucky was silent, for once, his head lowered and with a barely stifled growl he started off towards the end of the street without a word.

Bucky didn't come over the next few days. When Steve stood outside the first day, he waited forty-five minutes before Silvia Salander told him Bucky had skipped the last period and walked home. He waited the next day for thirty before one of Bucky's nicer friends told him Bucky had told him to tell "Rogersaurus" he wasn't feeling well. He didn't wait at all the next day. He'd later rationalize that he was just angry at Bucky for abandoning their project, but they'd been pretty much finished anyway. And at that point, Bucky had earned his name on the project even more than Steve had, in bigger letters if he was honest.

If he was truly being honest, he was angry with himself. What had he been thinking? Asking Bucky to talk to him, and about his feelings nonetheless? Bucky didn't need a shoulder to cry deeply into, and even if he did, what made Steve think he'd want it to be his shoulder? But even that thought irritated him; Bucky was willing to spend hours talking to Steve's mother, _his_ mother about actual things and then reserved everything _stupid_ and _trivial_, as Mr. Evans said, for Steve.

And maybe that was what really irked him. Listening in on the conversations Bucky had in his kitchen while his mother cooked delicious dinners, Steve knew Bucky had a lot to say. He spoke about the way he hated his father being drunk and gone all the time, but the revere in his tone belied the respect Bucky had for his father's previous work as a policeman. The way he admired Mrs. Rogers' culinary wizardry belied his nostalgia for his own mother's cooking. The way Bucky's voice would become wistful and small when he spoke about his mother at all, belied that she hadn't been around lately.

Steve was jealous and the realization hit him like a train. He was jealous of his mother. After all, Steve could spend three, sometimes four more hours alone with Bucky a day than her but she got to know Bucky better than he ever would. How pathetic did that make him?

Apparently pathetic enough to lie to Mrs. Collingsworth about having trouble breathing days later and skip the rest of his last class. He'd heard from a reliable source, Mrs. Jensen in the front office, Bucky had physical education as his last class. He stealthily roamed the empty halls until he heard the familiar squeak of Bucky's rubber shoes on the tiled floors. He pressed his body as hard as possible into the wall as Bucky rounded the corner. He waited until Bucky was sufficiently far enough down the hall to follow him as quietly as possible. And as he left the school grounds, before the bell, his conscience kept pointing out; he realized he'd never found out where Bucky lived. He assumed it wasn't far because he'd walked to and from his house with no trouble.

Steve had just been contemplating how stupid his plan had been with his lungs already burning when, fifteen minutes into it, Bucky rounded a street corner and promptly disappeared. He spun around abruptly and searched the noisy street for any sign of the mop of unruly dark hair or tattered backpack when a sharp weight shoved him roughly into a grimy alleyway. Mud stains were the last of his problems as Bucky angrily glared down at him.

"Hey, Bucky. How's it goin'?" he tired weakly through the lack of oxygen. He panted and thought about breathing normally.

Bucky's brow furrowed and he reluctantly rolled off of the boy struggling for air. If there was anything Jack had thought him, it was how to tell when someone was following him. Still, it had just been Stevie –Steve. He was harmless and looking at him now, slowly getting to his feet, he felt a little bad for overreacting. And he was a little surprised at the weightless feeling the pit of his stomach stubbornly pulling a grin from the corners of his mouth.

"Stop following me." Starting down the sidewalk, he wasn't the least surprised to hear the sound of Stevie's –_Steve's_ loafers in step with his rubber boots. He let it go on until he was five minutes from his apartment building, spotting the usual crowd of ugliness surrounding the whole property. "Go home, your ma's probably worried, Stevie." It slipped out but it felt like it belonged in his mouth.

Normally a mention of his ma's shaky nerves was enough to send Steve on his way but this time, he stood his ground and he looked a bit ridiculous in mud stained pants and a filthy collar. "No. I won't be ignored."

They stood a few feet apart, arms crossed and eyes locked in a test of wills until a minute twitch of Steve's brow and a tiny quirk in Bucky's lip led to a breakdown in unrestrained laughter. Bucky threw his head back and let out a bark so loud a woman walking past them with her purse clutched to her chest stopped to stare, making Steve's chuckles morph into "manly chuckles" as he would later call them, that sounded an awful lot like giggles. When they finally regained control and Steve had gotten over his unnatural fear of germs and insects found on the ground, they sat together in front of Bucky's ugly apartment.

They were quiet for a while before Bucky spoke. "I'm real sorry I left that day. Was your ma mad?"

Steve shook his head and scratched at the stubborn stain on his knee. "No, not at you anyway." He leaned his weight into Bucky's shoulder, barely nudging the older boy. "I suspect your alien powers have made her like you more than me."

Bucky grinned and peaked at Steve from underneath his eyelashes. "Yes! My plan is working." He waited a moment before pulling his knees up to his chest and dropping his chin on top of them. "Why would you follow me anyway?"

And Steve wanted to say that he missed Bucky, that he was angry at himself for being such a needy crybaby, that he felt like Bucky was the first real friend he'd had and he wasn't even sure that Bucky had been aware. Instead, he tried for a laugh. "It's too much work without you. The Rogersaurus needs two parents."

Bucky lowered his eyes to his feet, his lashes fluttering for a moment before he nodded somberly, sniffing quietly. And Steve bit his lip at the sudden sight of tears trailing down Bucky's face. It was strange, but other than children, Steve had never seen anyone cry; let alone Bucky, the strongest person he knew next to his mother. He seemed so small, so unlike the boy that had tackled him to the ground moments ago.

Bucky wiped angrily at his face before staring up to study the walls of the building. "Yeah, okay." He shook his head and wiped at his face again in determination before standing up, growing taller as he did, indestructible. "If the Rogersaurus needs two parents, he's got 'em." He extended a hand to Steve and pulled him up. "Is that dinner invitation still open?"

Steve knew better than to say so without consulting his mother but he figured she made enough for them to share with a third person anyway, and if he had to, he'd just eat less. "Of course, you have to meet the in-laws." Some part of his brain told him that statement sounded strange but he ignored it.

And as they walked to Rogers' apartment, he reasoned he could let Bucky call him the dame of their "parenthood", steal all of his mother's time, and call him Stevie all he wanted if it meant never having to see tears of Bucky's face again.


End file.
